


sing that boy a lullaby (for the road)

by patheticfallacies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean Winchester Hates Witches, Dean Winchester Needs a Hug, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, F/M, Sleeping Beauty Elements, a twist on sleeping beauty, fairytales - Freeform, reader doesn't know how to accept anyone into her life, two dumbasses in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patheticfallacies/pseuds/patheticfallacies
Summary: simple cases are never simple; it might as well be the first rule in a hunter's handbook. and yet they thought for once, things could be straightforward and quick. she thought that she'd be gone by the end of the week, and he thought he might have the chance to tell her how she makes him feel.but when things go south and a dream case turns into a nightmare, who's going to come out alive (or awake)?
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler alert - dean winchester gets to catch up on sleep (though, not in the way he might have been hoping).

  
  


**_“YOU SURE YOU DON’T WANT TO CALL SAM IN ON THIS?”_ **

Dean shook his head, creeping several feet ahead of her. “No time.”

“Right. So we're just rushing in and get ourselves _murdered_.”

He pouted back to you, “you don’t think I handle this?”

“I-well, _no_ ,” you stumbled, now unsure of your word choice or situation. Always with the faces, Winchester. “I know you’re a great hunter, but-”

“-you think I’m an awesome hunter? D’aw, sweetheart.”

“I said great, but - god, shuddup y’asshole and just walk. Let’s get this over and done with.” You marched forward then, past him and his cackling form, frowning but with little merit behind the look. You couldn’t hold much anger to him anyways, and he was right (unfortunately). There was no time, or need, to call Sam on a case like this.

The job wasn’t necessarily hard. Like, as far as things went, the two of you weren't totally screwed - but anything involving witches (even just _one_ ) was a wildcard. No one ever knew what was going on in their heads or what was up their wicked sleeves. Maybe that was what created Dean Winchester’s bitter hatred for them. 

That, or maybe the name brought up way too many funny, tragic, wack-o cases of transformations for him. There _had_ been a lot of unfortunate events in the witch department.

But the one you and Dean were hunting that day barely seemed to rise to that same level of the past. She was simple and worked alone and badly covered her magic tracks in everything she did. She played what seemed to be cruel pranks on the village she currently occupied and not yet had anyone even died - like this was a game to the chick, and one she was easily losing.

It was almost too easy, tracking her down, like she was leading them to her-

-no. You shook her head, throwing away the pessimistic thoughts. This was easy. The witch was a low-level threat and they had done everything right. Like, if this was a test, they would both pass with flying _**fucking** _colours. And again, there was absolutely  nothing  wrong with an easy hunt. Kick ‘er off to hell and be on with your life is always a plus. _Not_ that you really knew where you were headed next, but there had to be somewhere to be or go. Someone always needing help; maybe you’d hit up the east coast, there was always something weird over...

“...you know,” Dean called to you, sauntering in with an ease you wished you could carry, “I gotta say, the fairytales thing is clever. I’ll giv’er that. Kinda surprised more aren’t like that.”

“I think  _ most  _ witches are tryna do more than play pranks on people.”

“Pranks? If these are pranks to you, I don’t ever want to get on your bad side, Y/L/N.”

You cracked a small smile at that. “Best you don’t, Winchester. I wouldn’t need witchcraft to make your life a living hell.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.”

Dean seemed to slow his pace, or maybe you sped up - but either way, there was an amiable pacing as you both walked alongside one another. In the dim light, there was no way to clearly make out one another’s expression, but you could just barely make out a soft smile. Not snarky, or fake - almost shy, in a sense. Why, you weren’t sure, but Chuck, did he pull it off. One could only wish a man like him could smile more.

As those he sensed your eyes, his head turned, and immediately yours fell to the ground. At least the darkness could cover your embarrassment.

“How long you plannin’ to stay in town this time?”

_ O-kay _ , not what you were expecting him to say. You frowned a little, trying to process past the embarrassment of being caught staring ( _surely he had seen you_?). “Not sure. Hadn’t really thought about it, past getting this hunt done...why?”

“You’re just always so quick to come n’go, is all. Never staying past a week.”

You laughed softly, though your heart really wasn’t in it. More sharp and bitter than happy, as laughter should fall. “Isn’t that the hunters way? No place to call a home ‘cept the great big scary world?”

“Well, yeah, but…” There was a long pause, before he spoke again. Each step thundering between the two of you, as you waited for what he would say next. “There’s always room for you at the bunker. Longer’n a night.”

Yep, definitely _not_ what you expected from him.

You and the Winchesters had gone back a long time, criss-crossing hunts enough to become good enough partners. You trusted the duo past basic hunter rights, and enough of their big weird adventures had claimed your time, too. It had become common for them to call you up and you them. It was almost easy; you would drop by their infamous bunker, stay for a night’s rest before cracking the next baddie in the ass. Most of the time easy, and usually a good relief of the lonely monotony of your life.

But you never stayed with them longer than a week. It was a silent point you upheld to yourself. You kept up a solitary lifestyle and though you would love to share their home (for maybe more than just one reason), you never considered it seriously. It wasn’t yours - and wasn’t it easier on your own? It at least seemed so.

But having Dean asked (in a sort of roundabout way) you to stay was...well, unexpected. To say the least.

Unsure where he was trying to go with the conversation, you tried to poke a joke. “I know there’s _room_ \- you could fit like, the entirety of Lebanon inside there and still have space.”

“Wouldn’t go that far, but yeah - there’s room for a couple more.”  _ Like you _ , fell softly between you too, hopeful. It hovered, waiting for you to reciprocate, but you couldn't bring yourself to. Couldn't let yourself even for a second tempt what one might call 'fate'. In your experience, fate, destiny, luck of the lady whatever was a bitch and if you had learnt anything from your hard road of life, it was that offers like these weren't what they seemed.

_ No one likes the fu- _

“Mm.” Top ten worst responses, yeah - but what were you supposed to say to that? “Probably.”

“I mean, you’re always just -” he snapped his fingers, a startling sound amongst the quiet. “Gone the next day. Don’t even know where you go.”

The conversation was getting weirder and weirder. And how were you both not already on the witch’s doorstep? How long had you been walking? Also, _ what the hell Dean _ , were you trying to make you-

\- nope. You stopped yourself short, fast. No going down that road.

“What’re you asking this for? Have you gotten so used to your homely lifestyle, you’ve forgotten how the nomad life works?”

He didn’t laugh that time. “I was just  _ offering _ .”

Shit, now he sounded offended. You had not meant for that to happen, you just - why were you considering this past a joke? Damn your overactive mind. Once a dreamer, always a dreamer, eh? “Sorry, I - this just feels left field, y’know?”

“ _ Why _ ?”

“Well, I - I mean, I-I-” it felt like you were walking into a trap - and not physically, witchy-wise. You had no idea what he wanted to hear from you, and you also did not know the intent behind his words. At all. Dean never talked like this, with offers of friendship and moving in and like, caring past a ‘saving the world’ type shtick. He certainly had never extended an offer like this. Maybe hints when drunk about how closed off you seem, and...had this ever come up before? No, certainly not, right?

The two of you were close but he always seemed so blase when you came and went - it was his brother who offered a room, but that was more courtesy than anything. Dean was the one who smiled and accepted a high-five over a hug and never spared a second glance.

_ (not that you were looking for one, or anything. so, totally, not-) _

“You’re around most a’the time, anyways,” he ambled on, picking up where you seemingly could not continue. “From hunts and stuff...your room’s there, no one’s touching it when you’re gone.”

“Ah.”  _ Ah _ ? Really? A single sound - not even a word as an answer? This was embarrassing. And confusion. Why weren’t they already there?

“Just thought it’d be nice to have a base. Plus, y’know, Sammy and I always appreciate your help on hunts.”   
  


You cracked a grin at that one, cheeks running hotter than you thought possibly in the cool darkness. “I mean, I am the greatest hunter ever, so I’m not surprised, but thanks.”

“You’re not bad, _sure_.”

“Not bad?! _Not bad_ \- shut your lying hole, Dean Winchester.”

He just laughed then, and you were both glad and miffed for the conversation to be done.

The two of you had finally made it, after what felt like a forever walk. You stopped on the makeshift front lawn, staring forward at the tiny abandoned cottage-like home. The witch had set up camp inside it, operating on the brink of town where she could observe and work in peace. Not much of a looker - but you supposed she wasn’t looking for a forever-home.

Normally during a hunt, you’d be tense and already in work-mode, running through every single possible hideout and escape zone before entering. But that night was different. That night, you were trying to process the conversation and the weird roundabout way Dean had seemed to ask you...something. You still weren’t sure what he wanted from you, or why, or what you were supposed to do with the soft questions so unlike him.

Probably a bad move on your part, but hey. It was his fault for springing this on you on a  _ hunt _ . Practically on her front porch-

“-you don’t have to,” he suddenly said.

“Huh?”

“I get havin’ stuff outside - boyfriends,”  _ (why was that word a mumble? and -- what??)  _ “-priorities, whatnot-”

“-huh?!” Now you were  _ super  _ confused. “I don’t-”

“-s’just an offer, you know-”

“-I don’t-”

“- _forget it,_ ” he grumbled. Gone was the shy smile and easy nature; Dean had shut up like a clam and was already striding past you. Dammit. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Wasn’t like you were going to argue with that. 

The two of you crept forward and to the first window, peeking up at different times. You scanned the room carefully, only finding scattered belongings and tattered furniture. Guess not everything could be handed on a silver platter; you'd have to try a little bit to get it all, _obviously_.

Dean seemed to see the same from how he reacted. He fell back down beside you, green eyes staring just past your right ear. “Coast seems clear. You take here, I’ll go ‘round back and see if I can catch her off guard.”

“Shouldn’t we stick together?”

“Why?”

“It’s a witch, Dean, you never know what’s up there sl-”

“-I’m going back, you cover the front.” He wasted no time on your argument, remaining cold and logical despite your attempts. If you weren’t on a hunt, you’d be beyond frustrated, and fight him on his plan. 

As it were, the longer you spent playing crouched ducks, the more dead you were. Explanations would have to wait until after.

“Fine,” you hissed. “Stay sharp, don’t be stupid.”

He just nodded and slipped away, leaving you cursing and silently screaming into your hands like a teenager, all over again.

Dean Winchester and words never went hand in hand, sure, but _come on_. He gave you more questions than answers and just ran off? It felt unreasonable and cruel, and you didn’t want that. You wanted to know what he wanted and why, and just what he was trying to ask of you. Sure it might seem simple, but it sure as hell didn’t feel that way.

But, sadly, no matter. There was no time to waste. You slipped your gun securely into hand and crept forward.

At least the front door was open.

Like seen from the window, there was nothing in the front room but tossed around belongings and whatever had been left behind before. The witch didn’t seem interested in interior design, too focused on whatever cruel tasks lay ahead than her surroundings.

You wasted only a little time on what was around you, finding quickly none of it was helpful. You moved forward with gun in hand, listening as close as possible for anything useful. But everything remained silent, and empty, leaving you moving along until...well, what would one even say?

“- _what the_ -?”

Of all that had been expected, a tacky smorgasbord of a bulletin board was not high on the list. It felt straight out of a movie, the way it looked; a compilation of newspaper clippings, pictures, and red string tying it all together with a gruesome bow. All it needed was like, a bloody handprint and you’d feel like a mustachio-ed detective out of some b-list Hollywood shitshow.

Slowly, you stepped forward, until you stood just in front of it all. Your eyes traced the string, taking in every detail with new horrors in every picture. Every victim and more were plastered up there, with newspaper articles and scrawled notes in different handwritings describing their passings.

_ ‘Gluttony…’ _ the Hansel and Gretel like circumstances two children found themselves in, bloated corpses filled to the brim with sugary sweets and pastries. You knew that case; it was the one that brought you three to the town, in the first place. What led you to the witch idea, though maybe it hadn’t seemed so horrific before...

And so it was for most of them. From Cinderella to a whack-o play on Jack on the Beanstalk, you read about the witch’s cruel tricks on the poor city-dwellers. But fast did your eyes fall from those to new clues - a strange case of ‘Red Riding Hood’, which you had heard the Winchesters’ took care of…

“Six months ago?” You murmured. A shaky hand traced the letters, before pulling the clipping off the wall. Yep, sure enough, the date was far before the other cases, and so was the location - three towns over than this one. It was more gruesome than the others, too; poor little Red hadn't seemed to stand a chance against whatever did this to her. But you hadn't heard this case was a witch one...

But that wasn’t all. There was a couple like that, scattered amongst this collection already known about. From Rapunzel, a young woman killed by her own hair, to a story suspiciously close to the ‘Frog Prince’, you found yourself tearing at the wall and pulling clues apart even as the pieces fell into place. 

Until you settled on the worst one of all.

“Shit.”

How you missed it, you weren’t sure, but it was all you could stare at, once seen. Sam and Dean’s faces twinkled down on you, matching smiles alike - much younger, but most definitely them. Strangely enough, all red strings led to them, tracing through every victim, pointing right at the two. And not only that, but the witch chose to graffiti the stolen image in a very specific light.

Your blood ran cold, staring at the ‘x’ across the older Winchester’s face.

And just at that moment, staring his frozen face down, a shout rang out.

Your blood ran cold. “ _Dean_!”

Dropping the papers and tearing your eyes from the board, you snapped back into action. The bulletin board and all of its scribbled glory could wait. Gun now poised in front of you, shot loaded, you tore through the rest of the dilapidated house in mad search of the man. Gone were almost all instincts save for being silent; all you knew was that this witch was much worse than anyone thought, and Dean was the worst person to be alone with her, just then.

It was not hard to find him at least. The only issue came with who he was with, and _how_.

You watched from the shadows, shocked, as the back of your witch crept closer to the fallen man. He seemed stuck, held by her in some way or another. His gun was across the room and you knew all too well, he was not equipped with anything more than those precious bullets that would end the magic bitch. And as much as he squirmed and wriggled, there seemed to be no way she was letting go of him.

Your hands raised, ready to fire, but faltered just as soon as she talked.

“You’re a fool, Winchester. Walking straight into my arms - how on earth did you earn your hunting stripes, huh?”

“Screw...off…”

“I mean,” she continued, a malicious note to her voice, “this is almost too easy. I’ve got you in the palm in my hand, like a pesky bug. Could crush you right here and now.”

Dean grunted, not in pain but out of frustration - he was definitely stuck, and struggling to even more an inch in her tight hold. You wondered if he had seen you yet. “So do...it. Kill me.”

“Oh, no, wouldn’t that be too easy? Considering what you’ve done to so many others, it wouldn’t be right if I gave _you_ mercy.” Her laugh ran out, shrill and cold. “You’re the final part of all this, Winchester. The final pin to drop. Soon, very soon, my plan will be over, and I will ruin you and your loved ones’ lives. You’ll finally know true suffering, as I have, you foolish boy of a man.”

“Doubt that,  _ bi-bitch _ .”

She laughed again, but said no more detailing her plan. Instead, her voice dropped and the familiar notes of Latin started to fill the room, even as you rushed forward.

You stepped out of the shadows and fired at her, missing her back but hitting the outstretched shoulder instead. At once, Dean slumped down, head slamming angrily against the ground and the woman screeched. She scurried away, injured limp clutched tight to her chest, but you raced after her with no relent.

“Give it up,” you growled, stepping out of the shadows and towards the witch. With only a glance spared towards the man on the ground, you pushed ahead, forcing her against the wall. “You screwed this up, badly. Did you really think he’d come here alone?”

But to your surprise, her reaction was not of shock, or fear. No, _despite_ the bloody wound and clearly dire situation at hand, the witch laughed, louder and higher than ever had before.

Yeah. Definitely not what you expected. _Why couldn't this case have been straightforward?_

“On your knees. Now.”

She obliged, still grinning. “Pretty little girl, here to save the day, are we? Ready to save Dean-o and gallop home? Maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll give you a thank you kis-”

“-shut your hole.”

“Come on now, really. You think you’ve solved this?”

“Solved what, your half-baked attempts at being a cool bitch witch?” You scoffed. “I could do better than this. In my sleep. No magic and all.”

Her right brow cocked. “So you know everything?”

“I know enough.”

“Oh, but...I don’t think you do, foolish girl. And you are so, so _foolish_ , full to the brim with naivete and broken hearts...”

It would be easy enough to shoot her, but something about the way she said that made you pause and falter. You still smiled, but it was strained and dammit, her malice had stuck confusion back into your mind far too easily. 

_ Why was his name strung up, dammit? _

“What’s next then, huh?” You hummed, but lacking the fervour of before. “One last magic trick before you go?”

“Actually,”

“-uh-huh?”

She grinned, and then moved faster than you expected from her. Her head met your left knee and the unhurt hand pulled your other leg out, leaving you tumbling to the ground. She took that half-second of opportunity to dart back towards Dean, only just getting up, and began to screech the spell she had not finished before. Barely a moment to her advantage, and yet she managed to complete the very thing you held over her.

“ _ No _ !”

You scrambled up, gun in hand. _Where the hell did that fucking powder come from? I_ t flew all around Dean and you had to stop and cough before your lungs collapsed, even as the witch cackled and cursed.

_ “...osculum est mortis…” _

You wiped at your lips and steadied your hand.

_ “...aeturnum...” _

Only a milli-second more and she would be dropping to your feet, dead.

_ “amor…” _

**BANG.**

_ “amplexum-” _

She slumped down with her words dying on her lips, even as she did. You wasted no time rolling her still warm corpse over, pressing two fingers to her neck with the grim satisfaction of knowing it was successful. She was dead, half-baked curse barely coming to - well, something. 

Your eyes lifted to meet Dean’s, only to find him up and brushing himself off coldly. As though he hadn’t felt a thing, funnily. “I’m so sorry, I just-Dean?”

But he didn’t look your way. Instead, his head turned and swivelled almost entirely, before focusing on a place behind you. With a small smile seeming to have no place on his paling face, he strode right past you.

“Dean? What are you - what are you doing?!”

He did not respond. You turned and watch his back move through the tiny room and through a daze, you followed, chasing after his long, bowed paces until-

“-Dean? Dean, what - stop! What the -”

And for the second time that day, you were too late. He paused and with quick deliberation, a second before you could yank him away, his finger found a strange device, with a black needle waiting to prick the calloused skin. 

Your hands met him a heartbeat later, barely even after the pad of his finger left the prick, but it was too late. Far too late. His eyes had rolled back and slowly, tragically, like he was straight-out-of-a-movie, fell to the ground. Just barely were you able to support him but you, too, collapsed under his weight, unable to support the body that fell dead- 

-no, you could not let yourself get so dark, so fast. Your hands fumbled across his neck, feeling frantically until finally, you could let out the breath you had not even realised you had been holding. Still alive, and in fact breathing naturally, as though…

“... _shit_.”

Dean Winchester was asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**_ELEVEN HOURS LATER,_ ** and Sam Winchester found you slumped at the bunker’s kitchen counter, downing your second glass of Dean’s whiskey that night (not that he knew that).

It had been rough, the past day spent. Sort of a _ no-SHIT  _ statement to make, but it was really the only way you could summarize it all: rough.

After the curse hit, you of course called Sam. 

He, _ of course _ , was shocked and pissed and confused, which you understood. You got that loud and clear.

_ (why didn’t you push to call Sam?? maybe then this wouldn’t have happened, dumbass-) _

After trying once again to wake the man up, you drove back to Sam and the motel, shaking and praying you didn’t ruin Dean’s precious Baby. It was then it all sunk in. Watching Sam shake his lifeless brother, lost in a dreamlike trance he could not be woken from, scared you. Terrified you like nothing else - overwhelming you with feelings you hadn’t felt in a long,  _ long  _ time. Though you let them go, pushed everything back to be the emotional rock, it still stuck with you. You couldn’t erase their faces from your mind, or how Dean flopped around like a rag doll, unable to be awoken. As though he was already lost.

You couldn’t shake the fear, the myriad of sickening emotions filling your mind.

_ (not that you’d address or even acknowledge the fuckers, though-)  _

The three of you then made the six-hour trip back to the bunker, each attempting to contact Cas without avail, as well as any other supernatural contact you had in your phones in hopes of an answer. Which wasn’t much, and still left you with no help or answers. Rowena didn’t answer, neither did Cas and no hunter you called had any clue on what was up. Half had not even hunted a witch before, if one could believe it. It really left you both more frustrated and confused than ever, with only a handful of stupid Google searches even barely piecing together a puzzle. Poor Sam was at wit’s end, and you yourself...

...it had been a rough ride home.

But you made it back, set Dean up, and eventually three hours later Cas arrived with panic lurking just below his stoic expression. Time passed like a dull butter knife through wood. No one knew what to do, except argue and panic run through every horrible possibility. You contemplated just running away and changing your name to avoid the guilt rotting your guts away, watching Cas and Sam fight and nothing but dead ends to answer for Dean’s unexplainable sleep. Time passed slower than you thought would ever be possible. You thought even maybe the witch had a hand in that too, but maybe you were just crazier than ever. 

But eventually, enough time passed to lead to the present moment, with Sam Winchester quirking a lip at your slightly tipsy self, frowning at the amber liquid as though  _ it  _ was the cause of all your problems.

“Hey.”

You started at the sound. You seemed to have drunk more than first thought, because  _ usually  _ you could hear either Winchester from a mile away, but...c’est la vie.

“Hey, Sam.”

“You all good?”

You ‘mm-ed’ a little. Your eyes fell to the tumbler in your hand, and you wiggled it. “Sorry for this, by the way.”

“For…?”

“The whiskey,” you explained. “ _ I _ f _ -when _ Dean wakes up,  _ please  _ don’t tell him I got into it. I’ll replenish it tomorrow, but I don’t need him pissy at me.”

“Oh. Sure. I doubt he’d be mad at  _ you  _ drinking it, but, sure.”

You frowned at him, confused at the sly remark. “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re probably the only person Dean’d let drink his ‘premium shit’,” Sam smirked, air-quotes used freely around the last words. He went to say more, but cut himself off, simply shrugging and turning to rummage through the fridge.

You stared blankly at his back, half-seeing him and half-lost in your own guilt-ridden world. His words hadn’t even really registered in your mind - if they had, you would have lost your shit on him, but in the state you were in (half-drunk as a skunk, one might say), the only word that stuck with you was ‘Dean’. 

What a mess you were.

“M’real sorry about your brother, Sam.”

“Hm?”

“I didn’t think this was gonna go this way.” Obviously. No  _ shit _ . Dumbest remark of the year award goes to… “This case didn’t seem to be the bad sort, and I thought we were going to be able to take it on our own.”

Sam half smirked, half sighed. “Didn’t seem that bad on my end, either. But...witches, right?”

“Ha. Yeah. Stupid assholes.” You squinted over to him, watching him carefully in the dim light of the kitchen. “You found out any more about his condition?”

He shook his head. “Cas said that - it’s just like he’s sleeping. He couldn’t wake him up, but it’s...it’s peaceful? He’s not in pain or upset in the slightest. Seems to be in the greatest sleep of his life.”

“Well,” you hummed, lifting your glass to your slightly quivering lips, “at least that’s a relief.”

“Yeah.”

It really was. It was no secret that hunters were cursed with horrific sleeping habits, and it was also barely concealed that Dean had it worst. He never spoke much about it, but you knew too well that he rarely got even three hours of a good sleep in a night. His nightmares wreaked havoc on his barely resting mind, and it was easier enough sometimes to avoid falling asleep at all. So at least you could feel something more than overwhelming guilt, knowing he was resting well.

But it didn’t change the way he looked. Laying there, still, barely breathing - like the man was already dead, just waiting for the last light to fade from his still-warm skin.

You coughed, clearing your throat and the horrible thoughts away with a grunt. “ _ Mm _ \- Rowena answer yet?”

“Nope.” Sam shrugged again. “I’ll try her tomorrow. Knowing her, she’s wrapped up in something dark or other, so...we’ll try her again in the morning.”

“Right. Makes sense.”

“We’ll look tomorrow again, too, at the spells, and maybe you’ll remember more of it tomorrow?”

You avoided his hopeful gaze, too pessimistic to accept even a morsel of positive thoughts. “We’ll see, yeah.”

“Mm-hmm.”

A moment of silence passed awkwardly, with you sipping the last of your whiskey and Sam’s mind a million miles away, lost in some sad, dark tunnel of a million bad outcomes. You wished you could be more supportive, more hopeful - offer some wisdom or advice or even an “it’ll get better, bud.” But you could barely muster up a smile to paint over your cracked lips. This was too real for both of you, and you still couldn’t wipe away the sight of him collapsing like a rag doll to the floor. Much as you tried to wipe that away, a reminder of how much you unfortunately cared about him, was following you relentlessly. And it hurt.

You weren’t the sort for outward emotions. That wasn’t shocking in the hunter community, but you did play an exception - most declared you stony, prickly and impossible to read, with stoic expressions a-plenty and nothing but business on the mind. Even the Winchesters, though friends of yours, were not people you wanted to be  _ too  _ close with. You worked together and that was it for you. You’d do a hunt, sleep off the night and then move on to your own solo work. Never more than a week’s worth was allotted to them and that was how you liked it. Quick, easy and emotionless coming and going was your speciality.

But there you were with a sore heart and tipsy mind, three nights into a hunt and down one brother. You couldn’t leave  _ now _ , not even if your soul begged for it- you were a bitch, but you weren’t too cold to care about someone’s life. And like it or not, no matter how you denied yourself that right, you cared deeply for them both. Maybe one, a little more than the other.

And you could not leave and let die. Would not. Should not, could not, definitely would never-

“-room?”

You blinked and refocused, eyes landing blearily on the tall tree-of-a-man in front of you. “Huh?”

“Sorry,” he apologised, as though he needed to, “I was just saying, your old room’s available, if you want?”

“Oh, right,” you murmured. Sleep. A waste of time, but it might be nice to crash and rest your aching bones. Thank hell you brought extra clothes. “Probably smart. We’ll need an early start tomorrow.”

Sam nodded, smiling softly. Waiting for you to clean up your whiskey mess, he led you through the twisting halls and into the row of doors you knew to be bedrooms. It was easy conversation then, stuff about work tomorrow, research and the mingling factor of a certain comatose Dean Winchester. Small talk bullshit. You tried desperately to keep a light tone, something you rarely did, but it felt right to fake it then. For Sam’s sake.

But it wasn’t until you were far enough to recognise the number and see the cracked open door when it all hit again. You could not really see him, but you knew he was there, and could imagine it enough for the wound to reopen. You choked on your words and stumbled ever so slightly. Not enough for most to notice, but Sam Winchester was not most. Couldn’t hide a flaw in the code from him.

“You okay?”

You nodded sharply, but it was too late. He saw easily through your facade. “Just - I hope we figure this all out tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he mumbled, wistfully. He didn’t bother to hide the pain from his voice then, and that hurt even more. “But he’s strong, and we’ve got a team. We’ll figure this out-”

“- _ I’m so sorry _ , Sam.”

The two of you stopped then, coincidentally just in front of your designated ‘guest’ bedroom. You avoided his gaze but felt it on you. Hard, firm, focused on you and your slowly crumbling pillar of strength, soon to leave you a pile of sludge and bones. You wanted to escape, shut the door on his face with a smile, but you were too slow and too tired, and the pain - the pain of seeing him -

\-  _ you really shouldn’t have said that _ , you cursed towards yourself. Dumbass.

“It’s not your  _ fault _ , Y/N.”

“Mmhmm,” you hummed, eager to escape already. You squared your shoulders and blinked back unshed tears, begging for at least a little grace in exit. You forced a wry grin to your lips and tilted it up to him. “We’ll figure this out tomorrow, right? I mean, if any ol’ Prince Charming can do it in the fairytales, I’m sure we can - we’ll get it. Yeah? Yeah.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, though still concern radiated. “We will. He’s gonna be okay.”

He should not have to assure you that, it should you be consoling him. How insulting and berating, making him be strong for your sake. But you made note to not falter again tomorrow. 

“Yeah. Sounds good. Uh...g’night, Sam.”

You accepted his soft night wishes with another smile and slipped into your room, ready to be alone finally. Waiting just long enough for his footsteps to slip away, you finally fell to the floor and let the floodgates open. You buried your face in your hands and began to sob, hard and heavily as you hadn’t in a very long time.

Tears you’d never let out before, tears you didn’t even know still existed, tears that should have dried up and died many, many years ago.

And all because you couldn’t help but care far too much for a single man.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things aren't looking good, in any way, shape or sleeping form. and she's getting worried her hope in their mis-matched team is all for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i...have barely edited this. oops. but here 'tis anyways.  
> the magic & stuff is a bit spotty in this, i'm sorry - i tried to sort of piece together something cas could actually do, I think i just worded it sort of painfully. but i did try to stick to what's possible and I hope it sorta works.
> 
> thanks for reading. :)

**_YOU DID NOT SLEEP A WINK LAST NIGHT._ **

Sadly, that came at no big shock. Sleep rarely was your friend and it was  _ never  _ in a hunter’s corner, especially not when the person their heart yearned for laid unconscious and lost. You had tossed and turned and paced around, biting your nails to the quick and tying knots into your tangled hair, begging for some peace to come to you - but that, too, failed you. When you were able to doze off, it was fraught with nightmares and left you gasping awake at seven in the morning, soaked with sweat and tears you could not even remember shedding.

You gave up, then, and after a quick shower were ready for the day. You had headed out into the hall with  _ intent  _ to go straight to the kitchen, but found yourself instead following down the hall and turning into a very familiar room. 

Dean’s. Eyes barely grazing the few decorations and messy organization the man kept up, you sank into the chair brought to his bed  _ (by Sam, perhaps?) _ and examined his sleeping face.

He looked the exact same as he had before. Maybe a bit paler, but not a hair was out of place, not a thing changed from his composure, body language or position. Still the same handsome man of previous waking hours. 

His hands, though, laid by his side like he was...well, you chose to avoid that dark thought. You considered taking one, but avoided touching him at all - it felt like a commitment you weren’t ready to make yourself make just yet. Instead, you simply stared at the breadth of a smile on his pretty pink lips, and the faded frown lines that normally rested much stronger on his face. How peaceful he looked in sleep. When was the last time you saw that?

_ (you chose to ignore the reminder in your head of the walk up to the witch’s hut, how he had smiled that great big goofy smile, looking like a million bucks as he asked you to say more than you knew how, with his eyes gleaming in the dim light-) _

“I’m sorry, Dean,” you mumbled. Your head came down, resting on your palm. Your other hand laid mere breaths away from touching his own. Why did you yearn to hold it? “I’m so sorry. I - I never wanted this, man. If I had only…” you didn’t finish your own thought.

It was easy for your mind to wander, in the silence and with your focus so intently on Dean. From the last interaction to your firsts - missions spent well and badly, laughter and then the occasional teary-eyed sessions you silently consoled one another on, while pretending neither of you were crying. Again, you never did well with relationships, friends or otherwise, but Dean...he was  _ easy  _ to let in,  _ faster  _ than you thought you were capable of. He slipped through a crack in your defenses and tore down the wall just like that. He somehow got you smiling when it was his number lighting up your phone, and wishing you could have just a little bit more time when you left the motel, or bunker, or wherever in hell you had got yourselves to. It was casual and you never talked about it, but surely he felt that bond you tried to ignore too...right?

You didn’t really  _ want  _ to consider him more than a coworker, but you found yourself thinking way too hard about him when you really shouldn’t. But it was Dean Winchester. Tall, handsome, lone ranger dedicated to the work, pie and his baby brother. Flirt,  _ sure _ , or careless nomad who found one-night company more enjoyable than anything past a week. He got you in that light and that was comfortable. That was good. It was better to have distances with people. You never knew when the job went south, and losing someone you loved to the monsters you were trying to save them from was a slippery slope down to insanity. You knew that, he did too, the whole fucking  _ world  _ -

“-you okay?”

You started, and realised all too fast three things. One, it had not been Dean or your crazy self who asked that but Sam, who had entered without you realising. Two, he had found you sitting over his brother, watching him and then three, you were crying.

Shit.  _ How  _ had you not noticed the tears?

You sniffled and nodded through vehemently wiping your face. “Thanks, yep. All good, just wanted to see-” why was your voice cracking so? Gross. “-if there were any changes.”

“Ah.” Sam silently offered you one of the mugs in his hand, and you took it with a grimace and thanks. “Anything?”

“Uh, nope. Just - just still sleeping, like a baby.”

“Yeah...never thought we’d see that from Dean.”

“You n’me both, honestly. But...glad he gets something good, out of this.”

You both forced a laugh. It sounded more like choked sobs.

Swallowing the too-hot gulp of coffee, you dared a look to Sam. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“How are you,” your free hand waved carelessly, “so calm about this? I mean, I know you’re upset, I’m not saying  _ that _ , but - how are you - I don’t know how to put it.”

But Sam nodded and grinned awkwardly. “I get what you’re saying.”

“Okay, good, I didn’t want to insult you-”

“-you’re not,” he promised, sipping his own hot beverage. “And honestly? I...this is going to sound awful, but I don’t think....” He paused. “I don’t see this as any sort of end. Inconvenience, sure. Shitshow, absolutely. But Dean’s  _ literally  _ gone to hell and back. We’ve  _ both  _ been to death’s door and lived to tell the tale. He doesn’t even look hurt from this, so..I’m trying to just see this as a side stop. Does that make sense?”

You nodded, slowly. “Sorta. Like a, ‘how could  _ this  _ of all things bring ‘im down?’”

“Yeah. Or, more just that, he’s been through so much shit and gotten out of it fine. I don’t think this witch and this sleeping curse, thing, spell whatever’s gonna hurt him.”

“Mm.”  _ I hope you’re right _ , you thought to yourself. If only you could hold such optimism.

“Plus, he’s got you-and Castiel,” Sam quickly added, leaving you wondering what the ‘you’ bit had to do with things. “And Rowena, if she gets back to us.”

“Ha. Yeah, guess so. Between us and the thousands of dusty books this bunker’s got, I’m sure we’ll figure something out.”

“Uh-huh.”

Once more you fell silent, your gaze down at your socks and Sam not so covertly watching you, for a reason you couldn’t quite tell. Just before it could get too awkward, however, he spoke once more.

“You remember the first time we met?”

At that you laughed softly. “Ha. Yeah. Couldn’t forget that.”

**_YEARS BEFORE_ **

_ “Hey, what do you think you’re doing here?” _

_ You whirled around, shocked, to find two extremely tall (like, trees stretching up to heaven tall) men standing and staring at you. One stood just behind the other one, as though unsure what was going on - but the shorter one, with arms crossed and a right bitchface staining a pretty complexion was all too ready to pick a fight.  _

_ Too bad for him, you were already having a shit day. _

_ “What am I  _ doing _?” You huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Doing my goddamn job, dude. Which-” you paused to hear distant shouts, and sighed. “-you two, just screwed over. Great. Just  _ great _.” _

_ “Hey sweetheart,  _ we’re  _ here to do our-” _

_ “-I don’t know who you are, but I’m not your damn sweetheart.” You lifted your gun and with a last glare, whirled away. “I’ve been watching this group for a week. I’m not having two pretty-boys ruin this for no-” _

_ “-look-” _

_ “-sorry, Dean-” _

_ “-whatever.” You headed out the door and went guns-a-blazing, no longer caring who heard. The nest was up now anyways - no point playing safe now. _

_ To your surprise, the men didn’t leave your side. They followed. Pulling guns out of their suits - which you scoffed at - the three of you made your way up the stairs, you and the one called Dean bickering the whole way. _

_ “My case-” _

_ “-asshole-” _

_ “-don’t play cocky-” _

_ “-look out!” _

_ At that you turned, just in time to dodge the incoming attack. _

“He’s always proud of that,” Sam mumbled, a nostalgic smile taking place on his face. “He always amps up  _ that  _ detail.”

You scoffed. “I’m sure - and he always leaves out how I saved his ass two times that night. Twice...in a row.”

“Oh, trust me, he doesn’t leave that out.” He paused, grinning slyly then. “He was blown away by you, you know.”

You bit back a smile of your own. “Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. You know when we left you that night, he wouldn’t stop talking about you. I mean, half of it was insults, sorry by the way-”

“-no harm, I did say some harsh shit about him then, too.”

Sam nodded. “The rest was high praise, though. He couldn’t believe that we hadn’t met you before, and much as he first hated your guts? He wanted to march right back around and ask you to show him everything you knew.”

That, you didn’t know. From your memory of the first meeting, it had been rocky, with Sam trying to keep you and Dean from murdering each other on top of the vampire carcasses.

_ “Are you INSANE? Why would you go into this headfirst with no plan?” _

_ “I had a plan, sweetheart-” _

_ “-do NOT sweetheart me!” _ _   
  
_

_ “Sweetheart,” he yelled back, with a cocky smirk to accent. “Believe it or not, but I’m not just a pretty face and badass skillset.” _

_ “I don’t believe that for a second, and pretty face? More like half baked and a little cocky bitchass badboy!” _

_ “Oh, you-” _

_ “-you could have gotten us killed, Winchester!” _

_ “Hey, I saved your life!” _

_ “So did I yours!  _ Twice _!” _

_ “Oh, so now we’re comparing? This ain’t a game!” _

_ “I know that! That’s why I was taking it seriously, ‘til you two amateurs showed and blown all my hard work to bits.” _

_ Dean scoffed and got closer, until you were both toe to toe. “Trust me, if you knew half the things we’ve seen, you wouldn’t be so quick to call us the amateurs here.” _

_ “Oh, sure. I’ve prob’bly done more things in a week than you two will have ever done your entire hunting careers.” You didn’t hesitate to stand as tall as you could, and though it was barely enough to graze his chin, you took that addition glady. “Don’t underestimate me, Winchester. It’ll end badly for you...every single goddamn time.” _

_ “We’ll see about  _ **_that_ ** _.” _

“-I thought you guys were gonna kill each other, right then and there.”

“Ha. Well, I might’ve, had you not been there. You play a good mediator, Sam, you know that?”

He grinned at the mediocre joke, but moved past it quickly. “But  _ Dean _ , he insisted on making sure we ran into you again before you left town.”

Again, that you had not known. You had thought that it had been a coincidence (a shit one at that) and you were just about ready to start yelling again until Sam stepped in and offered both of their numbers. He complimented your skills and apologised for his quote, ‘stubborn, hard-headed brother’, but asked that you’d call if needed. You had accepted reluctantly...if only you could have known where that would lead you to.

“I’m glad things worked out,” Sam continued. “I know Dean would’a hated it if you had hated him forever.”

“Oh, please. I could never hate your brother. He might get on my nerves all the damn time, but I care about him - both of you. You’re good hunters and better friends. Glad I have you  _ both _ .”

“Dean’s glad, too.”

You tried to brush off Sam’s sly comment and shrugged. “And here we are. Who would have thought?”

“Yeah...ha.”

“I…” you didn’t know what to say from there, but your hesitation was caught by Sam’s sharp gaze, and you felt obligated to say something after that. “I’m not good with words, you know - Dean n’I got that in common, but...thanks, Sam. I...I’m not too good with friends, but I do value you both.”

“Hey, it’s okay-”

“-no, I know, but-” you forced a laugh, almost as a defense against the tears you feared might come again. “-I dunno. Guess this has just got me reminiscing on everything and hoping for a little better. For you, me, us...eh, shit.”

“I-”

“-honestly, forget it, man.” You were flushed and tired and were you going to cry? No, absolutely not - but then  _ why were your eyes pricking so _ ? “I’m going to go start on this shit, um...I’ll pray to Cas, get this show on the road. Thanks for the coffee.”

“Y/N...”

You just shot back a thumbs up and kept walking, not eager to even acknowledge the awkward way you confessed your...well, you weren’t even sure what you were confessing. All you did know was that you were tired and you just wanted to talk to Dean, take a ride in Baby or watch a stupid horror movie that paled in comparison to reality but he always liked or -

\- dammit, there came the tear. Where in the  _ hell  _ was Cas when you needed an awkward run-in?

“Y/N?”

You screamed and whirled around, nearly spilling your coffee all over but steadying your hand just in the time. “Cas? What-”

“I heard your prayer.”

“I didn’t-oh. Right. Yeah. Uh.”

He tilted his head curiously. “You’re upset.”

“W-no, I’m okay, thanks.”

“You’re upset about Dean.”

“Um…” you coughed and tried to push away every thought coming up. Maybe if you focused on the floor, that’d clear your mind of it all. Damn, stupid all-powerful angels. “Sure, I guess I am. Aren’t we all?”

“But you’re worried about him, more than how Sam is.” Cas pursed his lips. “You’re scared you won’t be able to tell him how you lo-”

  
“-stop, stop, stop,” you mumbled, before pushing past him and heading down the hall. “You should let Sam know you’re here, and then we can get started.”

  
He didn’t say anything else, and you didn’t look back. Just focused on the floorboards passing underneath your socked toes, and tried not to vomit up the half-drunk coffee souring in your stomach.

___

_ “SO, YOU’RE TELLING ME NOTHING IN THAT HELLHOLE TELLS US ANYTHING?” _

Cas cocked his head, seemingly confused by your frustrated statement. “I...I’m not sure if you-”

“-I just mean, there was so much fucking stuff thrown up on the walls leading to what I had hoped would have been something. She had a goddamn  _ ‘x’  _ on Dean’s headshot!”

“An ‘x’ isn’t a spell.”

“I know, I  _ know _ ,” you cursed, running your hands through your hair - or, attempting you, rather giving up halfway realising you had already ruffled it into a too-tangled mess. “I just ....I mean it seemed like it would have gotten us somewhere with this, something more than this I mean. But none of these cases seem remotely connected, past being from the fucking Brother’s Grimm.”

Sam glanced up from his laptop, lips sealed into a firm thin line. “You sure you don’t remember anything more than this?”

“No. No. All I remember is  _ osculum est mortis _ ...something something, then  _ amplexum _ , or whatever along those lines.”

“Right, so that leaves us with ‘kiss of death’, a couple of spaces and ‘embracement’. So nothing close to what she could have done to Dean.”

Sam might not have meant his words so harshly, but you certainly felt the edge beneath them dig into your heart. You couldn’t feel worse about this all, but not even being able to recall the  _ curse  _ the witch put on Dean really felt like rock bottom. The only thing that might save his life, and you were standing in the way with your arms out screaming ‘no’.

Everything felt hopeless.

“Okay,” Cas said, muttering into the tense silence, “I will go back, and look again. I will be back.”

You both just nodded and watched him leave without another word.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” you whispered, unsure just how upset he was getting over this (and not eager to start another argument, you had barely recovered from lunch). “I really am. I’m trying to rack my brain, but all I’m getting are those three words, and - oh.”

Sam stopped himself from saying what you were sure was a terse ‘it’s fine’ and glanced up, surprised. “Oh? Oh what?”

“I remember, I think  _ ‘amure’ _ ? No, that’s not right…’ _ amour’ _ , or-”

“ _ -’amor’ _ ?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s it!”

Sam’s face lit up, happier than you had seen from him since the entire debacle started. “Great! Okay, that’s easy,  _ amor  _ is love in Latin.”

“Right, that makes sense. Okay, this is good, right?”

“Well, the word ‘love’ makes this feel a bit more hopeful, at least.” Sam grinned and jotted down a note, before pointing the pen at you. “Anything else?”

You hesitated, trying to rack your brain for more. Unfortunately, when she knocked you down, the only thing you could focus on was getting up and saving Dean. Your mind hadn’t been on any Latin being thrown around, especially when the language was a confusing mess in a peaceful situation. Trying to scramble for a weapon and listening to a long-lost foreign tongue? Sort of a shitshow on your part.

“I don’t know, it was a blur. I’ve got mumbles of stuff, but I don’t know if it’ll help, considering. I’d probably only be able to give letters, and that’d take a while.”

“Oh. Okay.” His tone wasn’t so positive, then.

You sank into your chair and rested your hand on your jaw, ready to continue the heavy research ahead of you. But when you began to scan the yellowed pages, none of the information took - instead, you found yourself replay the moments back, trying to remember even the slightest thing about anything around you.

_ “I get havin’ stuff outside - boyfriends-” _

_ “-you’re a fool, Winchester-” _

_ “-you think you’ve cracked the code?” _

_ “Dean?” _

_ “DEAN!” _

_ “How long you planning on staying in town-” _

_ “-forget it-” _

_ “-show on the road-” _

“-Fuck,” you muttered, flipping the page angrily, though you had soaked in none of the words. When Sam asked what the issue was, you sighed. “It’s like I only took in the least important details and erased anything useful about this damn witch. I mean, I was there when she cursed him, and there when she tried before too. But I was too focused on protecting Dean, I can’t remember what the hell she was saying.”

The man’s face fell, but then strangely enough, it brightened again. You watched in confusion as he leapt to his feet and carried his long legs over to the bookshelf, stopping at a small particular novel. You did not ask what he was after, only stared and waited for whatever new theory Sam wanted to throw her way that time.

But instead of telling her, he turned and called out another name. “Cas? Cas! Cas, whenever-”

“-hello.”

Sam barely blinked at Castiel’s reappearance. Instead, he raced back to the table, dropping the book he had been holding to the table. You read the title curiously: “An Abridged Guide to Angels, and the Admirable Attributes Attached to the Accolades”.

Not what you expected Sam to enjoy, and maybe too much alliteration...for no reason, but you assumed there was a point.

“Cas, you remember Lisa?”

He nodded gravely. “The woman Dean who-”

“-yes, the woman you erased her memories from,” Sam said, cutting him off effectively. To some shame, you weren’t sure what Cas was going to say, but it probably had not been that. He tapped his long fingers against the book. “I need you to do the same for Y/N.”

“What?”

“What?” You cried, standing from your seat. “Uh, Sam, I  _ like  _ my memories-”

“-no, not  _ erase _ ! I mean,” he grabbed the book and began to rustle through it, landing finally on the page he was searching for and holding it out for Cas. “Can you just er, reshow the memory to Y/N? Make her replay it, see if she sees anything more the second time around.”

Cas’ lips pursed, and his eyes lifted from the book, to Sam, and then finally to you. “Yes. It’s possible. What do you want her to see?”

When Sam too looked your way, you stepped in. “I guess what he’s saying is, we gotta walk through anything from the witch on. She was talking to Dean and I wasn’t really listening, but if there’s some way you can work some angel mojo and get it from her, maybe I’ll hear her Latin again. Or see something, or...I don’t know how your magic works. But?”

“I am not magic.”

“Whatever. Is it possible?”

Cas nodded and stepped to you. His hands raised, hovering just over your temples. “This could be painful.”

“Wait, wh-”

Before your sentence could finish, his hands collapsed against your hand and you felt a sharp pull, almost like he was trying to yank your brain right out. Your eyes widened and landed, panicked, on Sam, but before you could say a word, the sight in front of you blurred and lifted into a much different, but familiar, scene.

_ You watched from the shadows, staring at the back of the witch and Dean. He was helpless, frozen from the wall but straining within an inch of his life to get away. Still the witch crept closer to him, ready to pounce like a lion onto its injured prey. _

_ Your hands raised, then fell as she began to speak. _

_ “You’re a fool, Winchester. Walking straight into my arms - how on earth did you earn your hunting stripes, huh?” _

_ “Screw...off…” _

_ “I mean,” she continued, “this is almost too easy. I’ve got you in the palm in my hand, like a pesky bug. Could crush you right here and now.” _

_ Dean grunted. His arms twitched helplessly at her side, trying to reach his gun with no avail. “So do...it. Kill me.” _

_ “Oh, no, wouldn’t that be too easy? Considering what you’ve done to so many others, it wouldn’t be right if I gave you mercy.” Her laugh ran out, shrill and cold. “You’re the final part of all this, Winchester. The final pin to drop. Soon, very soon, my plan will be over, and I will ruin you and your loved ones’ lives. You’ll finally know true suffering, as I have, you foolish boy of a man.” _

_ “Doubt that, bi-bitch.” _

_ She laughed again, but said no more detailing her plan. Instead, her voice dropped and the familiar notes of Latin started to fill the room, even as you rushed forward. _

_ “Patitur quod osculum est mortis ad portantum vos somnum-” _

The memories pulled into new ones even as your gunshot rang out.

  
  


_ The witch grinned and moved. Her head met your left knee and the unhurt hand pulled your other leg out, leaving you tumbling to the ground. She ran back to Dean, catching him off guard, and began to screech the spell she had not finished before. Barely a moment to her advantage, and yet she managed to complete the very thing you held over her. _

_ “No!” _

_ You scrambled up, gun in hand. _

_ “...osculum est mortis…” _

_ You wiped at your lips and steadied your hand. _

_ “...aeturnum...” _

_ Only a milli-second more and she would be dropping to your feet, dead. _

_ “amor…” _

_ BANG. _

_ “amplexum-” _

Your eyes flew open, a look of shock staining your face. Cas stepped away grimly and left you trying not to think too heavily as he relayed the Latin phrases. At least that grace was given.

“This is easy, at least,” Sam said, typing rapidly. “I mean, it’s kind of shitty Latin - either she wrote this, or someone not so proficient did because the translation isn’t great. But loosely?”

You nodded, rolling your neck and blinking away the traces of Dean’s shocked, hurt, upset expression breaking-

“May, or allow,” Sam began, “the quote, ‘ _ kiss of death _ ’ sing you to eternal sleep. Uh... and then we’ve got love, and hug, or something close to that. So…”

You bit your lip. “Ah.”

“It feels more hopeful than before,” the man muttered, “but...again, the witch’s translated work is sloppy and without the missing words, I mean…”

“Yeah…”

You glanced over to ask Cas a question, only to find the angel gone. “Well...okay. Um…”

“Rowena will be here by nightfall,” Sam supplied helpfully. “She’ll know a bit more.”

“Yeah. And we’ll keep working. I mean, who knows? Maybe she found this spell online.”

He nodded. “Right. Yeah. We’ll look everywhere.”

Your heart twinged at Sam’s face - for once, he truly let his feelings show. The once hopeful puppy dog eyes were dreary and sad, and you could only assume he was losing momentum, fast.

“Hey. It’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.”

“If anyone can figure this out, it’s gonna be us.” Your hand met his and held fast, squeezing over the tabletop. Hopefully, it looked like you were smiling. “I promise you, we’ll get Dean out of this.”

Your eyes met and held, both reflecting the same exact thing: fear, for the man they both would do anything for to get back to them.

**Author's Note:**

> please note - I've never written for supernatural before...like ever, i'm not really a fandom follower for it either, but i do appreciate dean winchester, despite not actively watching the show (anymore). the man's quite pretty.  
> and i've been in a rut and wanted to take a stab at something i see a lot across any fanfiction/fandom, where the guy always saves the girl. which is fine, gal i read them for filth still, but i want to see some badass-ery from the reader, too. it's fairytale based, but not too closely. also, i didn't really follow a season timeline, it's loose because i'm lazy. really,,,I wrote this completely separately, but then I got reading on something and decided to work this into a supernatural thing, which turned into this mess.  
> i hope you enjoy. xx


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